The Mighty Quinns: Malcolm

“I’m not going to do your story,” Mal said. “I can’t.”

“Someone is going to write about this,” she said. “With me, you could get your story out there the way you want it to be told.”

Mal shook his head. “It took my mum a year to make it through the day without crying. I’m not going to make her relive that time. You can write what you want to write, but without me or my brothers.”

“Without you, there’s no story,” Amy murmured.

“You’re not going to write anything?”

Amy shook her head. “I know good stories, and that wouldn’t be a good story. I wanted to write about your father and the aftereffects of the tragedy that took his life.” She shrugged. “I understand that wouldn’t be easy for you.”

She didn’t want to give up, but Amy saw the pain in his expression. The emotions were still raw, the wounds unhealed even after twenty years. She was sure in her heart she could tell their story the right way, putting aside the sensational and focusing on the human element. But if he wasn’t going to participate, what was the point?

Amy pushed to her feet. “I should probably go. I can’t afford to miss any more work.”

“Isn’t this your work?”

She didn’t want to admit the truth to him, but then again, what difference did it make now? “I was hoping if I got this story, I could convince my father to mount an expedition to Everest for you and your brothers.”

He gasped, then looked away. Gulping down the last of his whiskey, Mal sat silently for a long moment. Amy waited, wondering if the revelation might change his mind. “I thought we’d do a series of articles. Profiles on all three of you, then we’d follow the preparations for the expedition. And then cover the expedition itself. I wanted to put a historical perspective on the story and show the way climbing Everest has changed in the past twenty years.”

“You have a lot of grand plans,” he said.

“I do,” Amy admitted.

Was he really considering her offer? Would the expedition change his mind? Amy knew she ought to tell him the truth, that an Everest trip wasn’t actually a firm part of the deal, but if she wanted this story, then she had to do everything in her power to make it happen. That was what a real journalist did.

“I’m still not going to do the story,” he said.

Frustration welled up inside her. So he’d decided to string her along and get her drunk. “Then I think I’ll go back to my hotel.” She walked down the porch steps, then realized that she didn’t have her car. And she wasn’t really sure how to get back to her hotel.

“Come on,” Mal said. “At least let me buy you dinner for your trouble. You came all the way to New Zealand.”

“You already bought me crisps and a beer. I’m good.”

Mal jogged down the steps and grabbed her hand. The physical contact sent a tremor through her body. When he leaned closer, she forgot to breathe. She realized she should put some distance between them. And yet she couldn’t seem to make herself move.

She wanted him to kiss her, to come away with that one singular experience. She’d consider her trip a mild success if she left with that memory. After all, this whole trip had been about expanding her horizons, about reaching for new goals.

“Can I take you out?” he asked. “I promise, I’ll show you a good time.”

She couldn’t help but smile. If he knew the kind of fun that she had in mind, he might not be so anxious to keep her around. Or maybe he would....

Glancing down at their hands, her fingers still caught up in his, Amy realized what she had to do. If she couldn’t have the story, then she’d satisfy herself with the man. Or at least a night out with him. Suddenly, the word adventure took on a whole new meaning.

“All right,” she said. “I am hungry.”

Mal gave her hand a squeeze, then pulled her along to the Range Rover. “A friend of mine has a burger place over on Bow Street. Do you like burgers? Of course you do, you’re American. You’re going to love this place.”

He opened the door and helped her into the truck. Amy watched as he jogged around to the driver’s side. He moved with such ease, as if he was in absolute control of every muscle in his body. What would it feel like to have that body beside her in bed? To be able to touch him at will?

As he slid in behind the wheel, she pushed the thought out of her head. She’d blown all of this entirely out of proportion. He’d touched her calf; he’d squeezed her hand. That didn’t mean he wanted to carry her into his bed and ravish her. It was Mal Quinn’s business to be charming and accommodating. They would have a fun meal, that was all.

She searched her mind for a topic of conversation. Now that he’d refused the article, she didn’t want to probe his past too deeply. She took a different tack. “Do you surf?”

“Yes,” he said. “After my father died, we moved up from the south island. My mum’s parents lived here and we lived with them at first. They ran a little restaurant.”

“Does your whole family still live here?”

“My grandparents have a place closer to Auckland now. The bach was theirs. They used to rent rooms out to visiting surfers. Now my brothers live there with me, although we’re rarely there together. And my younger sister also lives in town with a few friends. She used to live with us, but that didn’t really work out once she started bringing men home.”

“Your father was Australian. Do you ever see that side of the family?”

He glanced over at her. “You’ve done your research.”

She smiled. “I wanted to be prepared.”

“He was an only child and his mother passed away when he was thirteen. He never knew his father. He lived with foster families for a couple of years, then ran away when he was sixteen. He just wandered from adventure to adventure after that, working when he had to. He ended up in New Zealand, where he met Roger Innis, and the rest is history.”

Amy wanted paper and a pen to take notes, but since she’d managed to gain his trust, she had to keep it. “That adds a whole new context to his life,” she said. “I’ve always wondered what drives a man to risk his life for...thrills.”

“I couldn’t tell you.”

“You don’t feel that thrill?”

He shook his head. “Not the kind of thrill that makes me want to risk my life. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. I love seeing new and beautiful places, and I love showing those places to other people. But it’s not about me, it’s about the clients. With my father, I think it was about him. Even when he had clients with him.”

They pulled up in front of the restaurant and Mal parked the car and turned off the ignition. He stared out the windshield, a perplexed expression on his face. He laughed softly. “You know, I never really made the connection before, between his childhood and his need to tempt the fates.”

“I can understand his urge,” she said. “Maybe, after all that had happened to him as a kid, he was a little numb. Risking his life made him feel alive.”

He twisted in his seat, facing her. “But why have a family? Why put them at risk, too?”

“That’s easy,” Amy said. “Love. He lost his mother when he was young. I suppose he always wanted a family again, and when he met your mother, that happened. It just didn’t heal all the wounds.” She shook her head. “I’m not a psychologist, so this is all speculative. I guess we’ll never really know.”

“My father kept journals. My mother said she burned them, but I believe she still has them. They might provide more insight.”

“Maybe you should ask her if you can read them,” Amy said. “It might give you the peace you need.”

He considered her suggestion for a long moment. And then, without any warning, he reached out and pulled her toward him. His lips met hers and she realized that he was kissing her.

His tongue gently probed and she eagerly joined in. He was everything she’d imagined he would be—warm and passionate and powerful. He caressed her face with his hands as he deepened his assault and Amy sighed, the sound swallowed by the kiss.

When he finally drew back, she was light-headed and breathless. She wanted to kiss him again and keep kissing him until...until they found something more exciting to do. She leaned into him and he immediately took the cue and captured her mouth in another deep, delicious encounter.

This time, when he drew back, she held fast to the front of his shirt. They couldn’t go on until she understood exactly where she stood with him. “What are the chances you’re going to do this story with me?” she asked. “Just give me the odds.”

“As much as you’ve made an enticing pitch, I just can’t,” Mal said.